Chapter Thirty-Three #2
“There are many who feel otherwise,” the earl replied tightly.
“Richard is driving England to civil war by not turning rule over to Henry’s chosen.
Why do you insist upon serving a man who had never actually ruled a day from English soil?
Richard is monarch in absentia, de Lohr.
John may not be the best choice for king, but at least he loves England enough not to leave it. ”
Christopher stiffened. “John drives England to civil war with his greed and petty jealousies. Were he to rule from the throne, he would destroy this country and every man with it.”
“You are a fool,” de Havilland hissed in the first real show of emotion. “Cannot you see that? Your loyalties are misplaced.”
“My loyalties lie with the true king of England,” Christopher snapped quietly. “Now, earl, returning to the reason I am here. You made an attempt on my wife’s life, and for that, you shall pay dearly.”
The earl wasn’t impressed. “Is that the only reason you are here? It could not possibly be because you know I am loyal to John, and because of the information my sister relayed to your wife?” The earl shook his head, trying to provoke Christopher, to unbalance him.
“Are you going to kill me because of one small, insignificant woman? She is nothing in the scheme of the world, de Lohr, as you would do well to remember. The only thing of importance is England and her rule.”
Christopher cracked a dangerous smile. “Nay, my lord, ’tis you who would do well to remember that the only thing of importance is my wife. England and her rule come second.” He stood back from the man and motioned with his sword. “Retrieve your blade. I do not strike down an unarmed man.”
The earl eyed him for a moment before mechanically picking up his sword. Before raising the weapon in a defensive posture, he shook his head with genuine confusion.
“You are a bigger fool than I ever thought you to be,” he said.
“How can you place any value on a woman? From what I had heard and seen of you, you were Richard’s most devoted servant.
When you tore Windsor apart to get to me, I was confident it was because I was riding to John’s aid.
And now you tell me it is because I had my men chase your wife?
’Tis madness, de Lohr. How can you tell me your wife comes before your king? ”
Christopher lowered his visor and raised his sword. “Because she does, as I am about to demonstrate. Defend yourself, my lord.”
The earl promptly raised his sword. “You are a pathetic excuse for a Defender, de Lohr, if you would use your strength to protect a woman, a woman who was unfaithful to you, no less.”
“And now you add slander to the charge of attempted murder,” Christopher said. “ ’Twill be a pleasure to dispense justice.”
“Then I thank God Marcus Burton isn’t here, lest I’d be fighting off the two of you on Lady de Lohr’s behalf,” de Havilland snorted cruelly. “ ’Tis beyond me how the two of you could be bewitched by the bitch.”
Christopher brought the sword down, every ounce of power in his body surging to his arms as he slammed into the earl with unearthly strength. The earl brought his sword up, the force of the blow so powerful that it drove his own sword backward and buried it into the soft flesh of his neck.
The earl stumbled back, his windpipe cut and the horrible rasps of a man dying filling the room. He knew he was going to die and his eyes were wide as Christopher loomed over him again, raising his sword and delivering the merciful deathblow that severed his head from his body.
Christopher’s fury was beyond rational. He stood over the earl’s body, shaking with all of the raging emotions he was feeling, his breathing coming hard and fast. Behind him, there were still pockets of fighting in the room and he suddenly reached down and grabbed the earl’s head by the hair, raising it high above his head.
“It is over!” he roared, reverberation through the walls loud enough to be heard by every soldier involved.
He pushed through the room with his grisly trophy held above him, scattering the earl’s men like rabbits. Out in the corridor, he shouted his words again and the fighting immediately stopped. All eyes turned to the Lion’s Claw and his prize.
The battle was indeed over.
*
The soldiers guarding the door would not allow Dustin from her rooms to see what was transpiring with the skirmish.
Wise, seasoned men that they were, they listened empathetically as she pleaded and begged, but there was no possible way she was going anywhere, especially out to find her husband, and the men in charge tried to reason with her.
Dustin had stopped trying hours ago to control her fear for Christopher, and she even tried tears to sway the soldiers. It didn’t work.
When she eventually tried to bully her way out, the Irish sergeant picked her up and bodily placed her back in the antechamber, closing the door politely behind him as he went back out into the corridor.
Dustin was too concerned about her husband to fight anymore, knowing it would be futile, and took to pacing the floor of the room nervously while Deborah and her maids pretended to be busy with other things.
Dustin was close to hysterics. He’d been gone the entire afternoon and she was sick with worry for him.
Surely if he had been victorious, he would have returned to her immediately.
Yet if the earl was triumphant, then… Dustin squeezed her eyes shut at the thought; she wasn’t able to pursue it.
She would have to trust Christopher and know he would return to her.
Lord, with him taking his army north tonight, she would have endless days of this worrying to look forward to.
The sooner she learned to control her anxiety, the better.
Eventually she grew tired of pacing and sat while Deborah read aloud from a bible that she had brought with her.
Dustin was disinterested, her mind was drifting across the compound to the north wing, reaching out as if she could see Christopher if she tried hard enough.
Deborah droned on and the maids finished packing quietly, retreating to Deborah and David’s apartments to pack their items. Dustin sat and waited, her anxiety being replaced by a sort of numbness she was becoming accustomed to.
There was naught else to do but sit and wait.
The sun had set and she knew supper would be served shortly in the grand dining hall.
Her stomach rumbled but she wasn’t hungry.
One of her maids returned long enough to stoke the hearth in both the antechamber and the bedchamber before hustling back to her duties.
Dustin had lost track of time as it grew dark outside and she waited for her husband to return.
A peculiar droning sound permeated the room and Dustin turned to look curiously at Deborah, who lifted her head from her reading and gazed back at her sister-in-law questioningly. Then, at the same time and without a word, they both looked to the front door of the apartments.
Dustin was a second faster than her sister-in-law. She rushed to the door and threw it open. She was met by a host of surprised male faces.
“What’s going on?” Dustin demanded of the soldiers congregating in the hall. The Irish sergeant looked down at her; he was a great stocky man with a bushy red mustache. “News of your husband, my lady.”
“What news?” Dustin snapped at him.
He looked at her a moment as if debating whether or not to tell her. “He fared well in the skirmish, ’tis all,” he said steadily. “He lost only four soldiers, a fine statistic.”
She raised a well-arched brow at him. “Who cares about a bloody statistic? Where is he?”
“I don’t know, my lady,” he said truthfully. “But I am sure he will return soon.”
“But it is dark outside. Where could he be?” she demanded.
“Honestly, my lady, I know not,” the sergeant insisted. “You must be hungry. I shall send someone to fetch dinner for you.”
“I am not hungry!” she yelled at him. “I want to know where my husband is. What were you all talking about out here? We could hear you all the way inside the chamber.”
The sergeant shook his head patiently. “Soldier talk, ’tis all, I swear it,” he replied. “Why don’t you return to your room and I shall have someone bring your meal.”
Dustin’s face was red with fury. “If you say that one more time, I shall punch you right in the nose. I do not want food, I want someone to tell me where my husband is. If you do not know, then find out, for if you do not, I swear I shall jump from the window and go find him myself.”
“We are on the second floor, my lady,” the sergeant reminded her. “You would break your neck at the very least if you jumped from the window.” He glanced over at the group of new soldiers that had only moments before arrived with the victorious news. “Do any of you lads know where de Lohr is?”
“His knights are with the troops,” one man replied. “I haven’t seen the baron.”
The other soldiers looked at each other, nodding in agreement, no one had seen Christopher.
“With the troops? Why?” Dustin asked the man firmly.
“The army is mobilizing, my lady,” the soldier answered. “An awesome sight to behold, indeed; over one thousand men and knights.”
Mobilizing. Dustin swallowed hard, feeling the pit of her stomach twist. Dear Lord, he really was leaving tonight.
And she hadn’t seen him all day, and there was no telling when she would see him again.
It was all happening so fast that she could scarce believe it.
Her apprehension and agitation was suddenly overtaken by a fierce desire to be held by her husband.
The sergeant put a gentle hand on her. “Go and rest, my lady. The baron will be here shortly.”
She didn’t even answer him as she turned and went back into the antechamber. Deborah, her pale blue eyes wide, gazed back at her with concern.
“What’s wrong, Dustin?” she asked softly. “You look as if about to cry.”